


Expectations

by Galaxxii_B4be



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, But not fully bc it's unrequited, Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Incest, Loki is 18, Loki needs help let's be honest, Loki's POV, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sibling Incest, Thor is 20, Tony and Loki are best friends, Unrequited Love, angst is like ketchup on a cheeseburger, he's a wreck, this is my first time writing Thorki don't shoot me, very very very faintly inspired by Euphoria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 20:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20159761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galaxxii_B4be/pseuds/Galaxxii_B4be
Summary: I walk up to the front door with my hands shoved into my pockets and with my hood over my greasy hair. The house seems to grow larger the closer I get, towering over me, dementedly, reminding me that I am an outcast. I swallow that guilt and flip up the keypad beside the door, punching in the code that my mother sent me. It beeps twice, turns green, and I hear the door unlock. I let out a breath into the cold and grab the handle.-Loki visits home during Christmas break while everyone is away.





	Expectations

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in like one hour and was disgusted with myself ༼;´༎ຶ ༎ຶ༽ 
> 
> GEICO. 15 minutes could save you 15% or more on car insurance.

One would think with all the schools and companies consistently pressing on the message "Say NO To Drugs" that at least 20 or 30% of those kids tempted by drugs would find it in them to turn it down. Maybe that's actually right. And in truth, there were more kids willing to risk overdosing than originally thought to be. Maybe the current generation feel that they are so fucked, getting a rush of serotonin or that empty sense of nothingness for a while is truly all they look forward to. We can't forget the sex. Teenagers are the most hormonal beings on the planet. They can't go a day without getting horny, and most, if they're confident enough, which drugs can actually help with, can't go a week without fucking a peer. Sex is always better on drugs. High school quickies and relationships (which are just long-term quickies with some effort sprinkled in there) are all there for the thrill. You fuck on drugs and it's a whole nother rollercoaster. If the motion of the ocean doesn't rock your world close your eyes and focus on the drugs in your system.

You're as high as a kite. Enjoy it while it lasts and think about taking it again later, which you will. Again, and again, and again. And maybe you'll try something different. Whether it be burned, smoked, inhaled, injected, patched, or swallowed. You're no longer you and that's all that matters. 

-

The thing is, everyone (hopefully everyone) who ever risks doing drugs are aware of the very realistic and potential outcomes. You end up doing shit you regret, you end up in dangerous situations, and you end up addicted. 

I'm not an idiot. Most of the time.

I knew what I was getting myself into the moment I picked it up. Drugs are life ruining shit. It's just that so many people can't find a time of day to care. Drugs are taken to enhance the life that's being lived because it's utter fucking bullshit. And boy, is it a connection? For a man on the corner of the street who finds shelter in the form of a cardboard box to do the same shit as the booming movie star in a Playboy mansion? People of every kind are connected through heroin, and yet we're all the same. 

I ruined my life before I ruined my life, so I rarely stir on how much I resent myself for fucking things up. Things were already fucked up. I just decided to fuck it up more, but with passion. 

I grew curious at 13 and started at 14. And I must admit, with a silver tongue like mine and a family of riches blindly supporting me, it was quite easy to get a hold of. I was in an entirely other world by 15. And, surprise surprise, it was sex, drugs, and more sex and drugs. I still went to school but I was barely at home, only there to sleep and eat and to show my parents that I wasn't dead. My brother and I went to the same school. I was a sophomore. Thor was a senior. It was hard to see each other in the halls, and we didn't have the same lunch hour. When the school day ended, Thor would get in his truck (if he didn't have football practice), I would get on my bike, and we would go our separate ways. I used to ride with him when I was a freshman. Our morning drives were often quiet since neither of us are morning people, but our afternoon drives were better. It was never a "How was your day?" type of thing. We never did that. Thor and I didn't really discuss school too often. 

I was in orchestra at first. I quickly fell out of it, a lost to them. My father was beyond livid that entire year. I was only the greatest violin player in the school. It's just, violin didn't seem so important anymore. It's not the only thing I fell out of. I went from making the highest A's in my gifted classes, to making mediocre high C's to the standard high schooler. Teachers who loved me for my intelligence and brilliance were severally disappointed in my drop. So many of them tried to help. But it wasn't just from me, the expectations I mean. They expected so much of me just from my last name. Odinson. Oh, yes, the Odinson family were just such a lively bouquet of successful people. I was coming in behind years and years of personal favorites, and right behind Thor. Thor, who had a full scholarship due to being the best player and captain of his team. Thor, who was lusted over by every girl and, let's face it, many guys. Thor, who made teacher's days better. Thor, who held his head high amongst a sea of talentless nobodies.

And I know I wasn't completely curtained during all of this. But I was expected to be just as great as he was at what he did. I even expected it from myself...

Nothing in life ever goes as planned. Sometimes it goes completely off the rails from one thing, one little thing that couldn't be ignored or swept under the carpet. If I were stronger, sure, but I wasn't. I'm still not. I've never been strong, so in result, I lost my happiness. I lost my family. I lost my future. 

_You're still young, Loki. There's room to fix this._

My mother, as sweet as she is, knows fuck all about the situation I'm in. 

"Are you heading out?" 

I stuff my left foot into the rest of my boot and look over my shoulder at Tony. "What does it look like I'm doing?" 

Tony cocks his head while he pulls out another box of fried rice from the bag to set it on the coffee table. He's always feeding me, even if I don't really have the appetite. 

"No, I can see you're heading out, it's just, I don't know? _Questionable_ since we're about to eat dinner and all," he frowns. 

I sigh and put my hand on the door, showing no signs of staying. "I'll be back before the food gets cold, dear." 

"Very funny. And no, you're not. Where are you going anyway?" 

I don't know why he asks that so often. Everyone's quite aware of my lifestyle. Especially him. 

"Out." 

"Out. Out where?" 

"Why am I being interrogated?" 

"You're not. You only see it that way because you feel threatened." 

I chuckle and zip up my coat, opening the door. "Be back before you can say fentanyl." 

Before I completely shut the door, Tony says "Fentanyl." 

\--

I take my bike. Tony says I'm allowed to use one of his cars whenever I'm sober, but that's not usually the issue. I'm sober now of course, but I still take my bike, even with the frigid wind biting at my cheeks. It'll make the ride longer. Sorry Tony. 

My dad ended up kicking me out of the house when I was running up on 16. It was a disaster. For that year and a half that I was settling into this, they were skeptical. They suspected that I was up to something. Into something. Hanging with the wrong crowd. I never really had a crowd, to be honest. There was just me. Thor on the other hand was a different story. I don't know if it was because he's my older brother or because he was too close in age not to notice, but he noticed. He was the first one to confront me on it, actually. How worried he was. How I needed help. How it wasn't right. And that's how we started drifting apart. I'd ignore him or yell at him, knowing he was doing it out of the kindness of his heart. But that made it worse. He cared so much and I cared too much and, well, it got us where we are now. I haven't spoken to him in 8 months. I haven't seen him in a little over a year. 

My parents found out through a mishap. I was half dead, overdosed, on a lonely bench. I'm going to skip the part where I explain what it feels like to be so close to dying and jump to the part where I explain what it feels like to be waking up from it. I was hot, cold, dehydrated. I didn't know what the fuck was going on for 2 seconds. Once I realized that I was in a hospital, I calmed down a bit, but I was still scared out of my mind. A nurse came in, happy to see that I was conscious, and asked for my name. And then she contacted my parents. While I waited in my hospital bed, drifting in and out, I remember thinking about crying. I remember asking myself why I should. And I remember telling myself it was because I survived. 

Angsty, I know. 

My mother came through the door bawling, and my father came in after her, face nothing but stone. He was too angry to really say much. My mother was stumbling through tears and uneven breaths because she'd almost lost her boy. 

Outside of the room, inside our home, was a higher form of disaster. Drugs? Drugs? I had ruined myself over drugs? He was throwing things, breaking things, yelling at the top of his lungs. My mother held me to her chest during all of it. Don't mind him, dear. He was just so scared. They were so scared. That fear took control of everything, really. She kept demanding that I go straight into rehabilitation. He demanded that I get out. She was appalled. He started packing my things. I had already started texting Tony. 

Me: He's throwing me out

Him: What!?  
Him: Loki?? Are you serious? 

Me: I can stay with you? 

Him: Of course you can. Are you okay? 

Me: No

We were rich and well known, but Tony Stark was richer and more well known. He was also my best friend. He let me stay with him, and it was going to be for as long as I needed. And then as long as I wanted, if there came a time where I didn't need him anymore. One more year left of school and we're still joined at the hip. He's good to me, although I'm rarely good to him, and good for me. 

Tony: Seriously, where did you go?

I get the text once I'm turning down my street. I make the choice of hopping off my bike and walking the rest of the way. Longer. Again, sorry Tony. 

Loki: Home. Just to visit. 

Tony: …  
Tony: Nobody's there are they?

Loki: Nope  
Loki: :)

Tony: You're going to break in? 

What Tony doesn't know is that I'm closer with my mother since the incident. She's the only one I stay in touch with. A few hellos and catching ups here and there. What she doesn't know is that her son is still the same junkie slut that he's been for years, but ignorance is bliss. I don't like lying to her, but I do, and I will, and I did. It's gotten me here, now, standing in front of my old home with the new code imbedded in my head. Kudos to mother. 

Her and father are on a winter trip. Norway, I think. It's usually Norway. They've been gone for 2 days and are going to be away for 5 more. Thor is still at college. I asked her if he was going to be home for the holidays and she informed me that he would not. He has an actual life of success ahead of him, and to get there, the luxury of winter break doesn't apply. Can't relate. 

Loki: 💕💕💕 we'll see 

Tony: 🤦

Something strikes in my chest when I let my bike fall onto the manicured lawn. I don't allow myself to think about what it is, but I acknowledge it. I miss this place. I miss being home. 

I walk up to the front door with my hands shoved into my pockets and with my hood over my greasy hair. The house seems to grow larger the closer I get, towering over me, dementedly, reminding me that I am an outcast. I swallow that guilt and flip up the keypad beside the door, punching in the code that my mother sent me. It beeps twice, turns green, and I hear the door unlock. I let out a breath into the cold and grab the handle. 

Once I'm inside, door shut and locked, it's completely dark save for the faint multicolored light coming from the living room. I immediately feel like keeling over or vomiting, but I remove my hood and blow into the cupping of my hands to warm my fingers. The darkness is a bit overwhelming, so I'm naturally drawn to the living room. The Christmas tree is set up. Almost two stories high, completely real, that sparkles and twinkles with ornaments and lights. There are no presents under it. I'm not sure why they've put it up. Tradition, I guess. 

I make my way to the kitchen and flick on the light. Nothing is really that different so far. I don't know why I expected it to be. Aside from the intense feeling to get the fuck out, everything is as it's always been. The counters are polished clean, no dishes in the sink, the smell of cinnamon and an array of other spices coming from the bowl of scented pine cones in the middle of the island. It's too strong, and my father tells my mother that every year, but he lets her do it anyway. I open up the double door fridge and look around. Neat. Organized. Nothing inside that could potentially go bad while they're away. I pull out a beer and a jar of strawberry jam. 

When I was little and couldn't sleep, mother would bring me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a glass of sweet milk. It didn't really help at first. It was just food and milk, which I didn't fancy that much, but over time it became something that really calmed my nerves. I associated that late night snack with her love for me. I associated it with our talks and how'd she'd rest my head on her lap and stroke my hair. There's no milk in the fridge, so there's a beer on the counter instead. I don't drink much, but I've always favored my father's brew, as much as a simple glass of water. It's dark and sweet. I suppose it might work well with the sandwich. 

From the pantry, I swipe bread and smooth peanut butter. I get out a plate and a butter knife and start to make my sandwich in complete, utter silence. It's really unnerving, because I can kind of hear how fast my blood is streaming through my veins.

"Alexa?" 

The sound of the speaker awakening reaches my ears.

"Play Lonerism." 

_"Playing Lonerism by Tame Impala."_

The beginning of the album starts to play as I smear jam onto the alternate slice of bread. It's much better this way. I'm not sure what I plan to do here other than eat and walk around wondering what to do. 

That's exactly what I end up doing, anyway. I walk through the long halls and past different rooms. I've passed my parents room at least 3 times now. I know why, but I'm trying to convince myself that I don't. Or more accurately, that I won't crumble beneath it. Something tells me that I will, at the end of the night. I'll duck in and look around for loose change, hidden money, and anything that can quickly be pawned. I could always trouble Tony for drug money, and sometimes the sex pays, but it wouldn't hurt much to steal from the bastard who very well disowned me.

But that's later. Maybe. 

My room is off limits for personal reasons. I don't really miss it, and it's pretty bare of anything that belongs to me. It's nothing but a skeleton and possibly the coldest room in the house. Far from what it used to be. 

Unsurprisingly, I end up in Thor's bedroom. A painfully familiar sight. It's clean and untouched. The bed is made, the floor is clear, and a lot of Thor's things are missing. The room doesn't smell like him. It just smells like fabric and scented candles. Mother's doing. 

I place my almost empty beer on a nightstand and put my plate with my half eaten sandwich on the edge of his bed. The sheets are still exactly the same. Deep crimson that ombres into a striking red at the bottom. He's always had something for red. I reach out my hand to run my fingers along the top and I shiver with the ache to get between them. They're warm and heavy, even when he's gone. 

I walk over to his dresser, where his flat screen TV sits above it. There are a few framed pictures here. A school one of him when he was 10, blond hair much shorter than it is now. His face is full of baby fat and his blue eyes shine with youthful glee. Perhaps that's just a Thor thing. I'm sure it'll be there when he's wearing adult diapers. The one just beside it is of mother when she was a teenager. 17 and smiley as ever, teased bangs and ponytail looking as light to the touch as cotton candy. Looking at a picture like this, nobody would ever suspect she would end up with a man like my father. They were so different. 

There's 3 other pictures on the other end of the mahogany dresser. The first one is another school picture of him, 14, then, him as a drooling baby. The last one is a shot of his entire football team. That's all of them. 

The only one of me that he's ever had here, isn't here. I'm not surprised. Not one bit. But it still fucking hurts. 

I open a drawer. Thor never kept clothes here. It was always full of books. Although I have...had...an entire bookshelf in my room, along with the library downstairs, I would find any excuse to be in Thor's room. He'd never read the books. 

Before I go to the closet, I pick up the remote from underneath the TV to turn on the colored lights. I go from yellow, to red, to green, and settle on blue. It's calmer than any of the other colors. Thor's closet is as big as mine, but it seems bigger when I walk into it. Most of his clothes are gone. There are still some folded pants and sweats, a bunch of shirts and hoodies. There's dozens of shoes. Still, it seems like the second biggest walk-in closet in the house all of a sudden. After going through everything for almost the entirety of Apocalypse Dreams, I pull out a random sweatshirt and grab a pair of sweatpants. I might as well take a shower and sleep here. For the last time, sorry Tony.

I take two more large bites of the pb and j and a swallow of beer before I head to the bathroom. It's clinically clean. I'm going to have to make sure this entire house is exactly the way it was when I got here. There's a decorative basket on a small table just outside of Thor's shower door. It's full of the products he'd use. The soap, body wash, shampoo, conditioner, lotion, etcetera etcetera. It's pretty, and again, only my mother's doing, but it doesn't suit Thor's bathroom. He was never the type for things like this. They're usually strewn about on his shower floor of all places, unappealing to the eye. Despite this, I use everything, because it's Thor. It smells just like him because it is him, and the overwhelming scent of it all almost gets me hard in the shower. As low as my standards have gone, I refuse to accept getting aroused in my college brother's shower after cutting him off and entering the house when nobody's here to confront me. Just, no. Fuck no. 

The last song of the album is playing when I step out. I quickly dry off, half hazardously toweling my hair, and slip into Thor's clothes. They're soft and worn on the inside. Thor's bigger than me, by all means. He's taller and muscular, a grown ass man that's on his way to becoming a professional player. It's what you'd expect. So, on my body, they swallow me. I'm thin. It's the drugs. Did you guess that already? I have to roll up the waist of his sweatpants and roll up the sleeves enough to show the tips of my fingers. 

I exit the bathroom into the blue of the room and crawl up onto the bed. The little beer I have left has gone warm, and the bread of my sandwich has gone a bit hard. I debate on whether I have enough energy to go all the way downstairs to get another one. I certainly don't have enough energy to go rooting around in my parents' room. Just then, Tony rings me. I stop the music and answer the phone, stretching my limbs against the covers. 

"Hello?" 

"Just checking on you," Tony grumbles through the phone. 

"How sweet of you," I roll my eyes. "I'm okay. Safely inside and all." 

"You seriously broke in?" 

"No. My mother sent me the code. I'm not a complete maniac." 

"Brilliant." 

I sigh. "Sorry." 

"What was that?" 

"I said I'm sorry." 

"..." 

"Hello?"

"I didn't hear you-"

"You did or I'm hanging up." 

"Alright! Alright. Apology acknowledged. Accepted? To be determined." 

"Good enough. I promise I'll have dinner with you tomorrow. Maybe sex after?" 

He chuckles. "Dinner will do just fine." 

Tony always declined my offers. I don't take offense. 

"I'm tired. I just got out of the shower so I'm about to go to sleep." 

Tony lets out an exaggerated gasp. "At 10pm? Dare I say self care?" 

"Fuck you." 

"Do you really think staying the night there is a smart idea?" 

"I figured why not. I think I need it. I'll try to leave in the morning before I get the chance to do something stupid, if that's what you want to hear."

"Yeah, promise you won't." 

"... goodnight." 

"I'll let you off this time. Call me in the morning. Night, dumbass." 

He hangs up before I can counter.

\--

I often appreciate dreamless sleeps. They're completely dark and straight to the point. You're asleep. Now, you're waking up. It's better than nightmares or dreams about things relating to the life I abandoned. But there would be some times where I would wake from dreamless sleeps and wonder if I slept at all. There are also times where I get them confused with the drug outs and the post sex mini comas. Those weren't exactly sleep, but they sure as hell were close. 

When I open my eyes the room is brighter and no longer blue. The timer must've went out. The morning haze hits me, something I haven't felt in a long time. It's quiet. There are a few birds calling. The comfort of Thor's bed is almost enough to lull me back to sleep. I feel safe. For a moment, I allow myself to close my eyes again, breathing in the smell that surrounds me, and then my eyes fly open.

It smells like heat and dark oak. Cucumber, citrus, and summer forest drift. But it also smells like breakfast. Fresh breakfast. Bacon. Eggs. I sniff out for a hint of burnt toast just in case I'm having a stroke. But no. There is none. Only the filling promise of- 

My stomach rumbles over the measly excuse for dinner that I had last night. And I almost succumb to that aching in my gut, but I stall.

_Just who the fuck is making breakfast?_

My heart instantly picks up in my chest, hammering away at my ribcage like a madman. I throw the covers off me and get out of the bed. Someone's here. Someone's actually here. I think of who it could and couldn't be, over and over, and it doesn't make sense. My parents are surely in Norway and Thor is stuck at college. Am I hallucinating?? Did I take drugs that I don't remember taking??? Nobody else has a code to the house. Unless... 

It's a stretch. A very, long, stupid stretch, but I try it anyway as I head to the bathroom for my clothes. 

"Morning earlybird! You actually called-" 

"Tell me that's you downstairs making breakfast."

Tony pauses. "What?" 

_"Tony!"_ I stage whisper. "You didn't hack into my messages?" I can't find my fucking clothes. 

"What- No! Why the hell would I bother?"

"Fuck. _Fuck_." 

"Lo-" 

I hang up the phone and plant a hand into my hair, grabbing a fistful and pulling.

My mother. 

She wouldn't. 

Lie to me? Would she? Like this? 

Okay, so there's an absolute sick chance that my mother lied to me and my older brother is downstairs cooking breakfast as I reach the edge of a panic attack in his fucking bathroom. Does he know I'm here??? He has to, right? The bastard must have taken my clothes and hid them. Curse his comfortable ass bed! I'm a light sleeper, I should've heard him! So what now? I can't chance going out the window. My twigs for ankles would snap under a fall like that, and where the hell can I go with two broken ankles. 

_Fuck_. 

This isn't right. He can't do this. They can't do this. I'm not ready. I'm far, far, far from being anywhere near emotionally stable enough to actually see Thor. Let alone speak to him. In this empty house? With no warning beforehand?

I can't do this. I can't fucking breathe. 

I'm already on the floor with my chest constricting around my lungs. Nothing's getting in. Nothing's getting out. The tears are starting to form. I should've never come here. I really should've never come here. 

"Loki?" 

Suddenly, Thor (_Thor_) is standing in the doorway of the bathroom with the worst look on his face. It isn't disgust or anger or that familiar indifference. He actually looks worried. And what more could I expect from my brother? What less? 

This is hopeless. 

I try to say his name but my throat is knotted too tight. I'm still trying to breathe. I'm still trying to cry. 

"Lo? Hey, look at me." Completely hopeless. "Can you breathe?" 

He's on the floor, kneeling, cautiously approaching me with his hands out in front of him. I close my eyes and shake my head. The brushing of my hair against the tips of my ears grounds me in the oddest way. 

"What can I do to help you?" Thor asks calmly. The opposite of me. 

Against everything that's been leading up to this dreadful experience, I'm reaching out to him. 

When it comes to life and how unexpected things can be, Thor somehow manages to be the center of so much of it. I used to blame what happened on him. But after spending hours stuck in my own head, I came to a realization. I then started to blame it on the strength I lacked. On the sickness that was obviously within me, somewhere. I always saw Thor as that trigger. I was once someone beautiful, someone worth it, with that weakness deep inside, and Thor managed to find it and bring it out. It was a domino effect from there. A constant downward spiral. I never resented Thor for being Thor. I resented him for having that hold on me. The ability to see and take and offer what nobody else could. The truth is, I love him more than I ever imagined was possible. And the fucked up part of it is that he's the answer to all my problems. Problems that he himself is the root of. I think I would be the best me if Thor loved me the way that I love him. Life isn't fair, though. We're born where we're born, how we're born, with no say. The only say you have in life is who you become, and even those odds are against you based on where you come from. Reality is impossibly cruel. 

"Is it okay for me to grab your hand?" 

But I'm afraid there will be a point where I can't find it in me to care. 

"Please," I strain. 

Thor's hand, large and warm, takes hold of mine. And then he's holding me. Hugging me firmly against his chest, enveloping me in the safety of his arms. I cry then, because I can breathe. And I breathe because I'm in Thor's embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> Why are there bees in my ass? 
> 
> They buzz for comments and kudos.


End file.
